THE PLACE OF REST.
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We stopped before a low white gate, The latch he gently pressed,The cottage door stood open wide;His baby sleeping just inside, Upon its mother's breast.
Two other little ones I saw, All cleanly, sweetly dressed.He met his wife's uplifted eyes,Blue as the summer sunlit skies; Her lips he softly pressed.
He took his baby from her arms, And tossed it up in glee,And while its joyous laugh rang out,The other two clung close about Their happy father's knee.
The young wife smiled upon them all, Her dearest, sweetest, best;No look of weariness is there,Wrought by the hand of anxious care. "Ah! here at last is rest."
